On most days, my little girl is very reasonable and a great partner in most domestic escapades. She loves a trip to the park or the bookstore. She doesn’t complain when we pop into a thrift store or take the odd trip to Anthropologie. I’m not naive, however. I know this won’t last forever. There will come a day when Maeve is no longer a little girl. She won’t be grasping at my pant legs and crying out for mama.
She will decide it’s more fun to spend time with her friends or, better yet, to enjoy a long afternoon at the library reading ahead in all of her advanced textbooks. I will be a bit misty, but I will feign understanding. Or, will I?
As far back in my memory as I can recall, going shopping with my mother was boring. There was so much I wanted to do more than mill about a department store. I protested and protested. I hid underneath the racks and pulled all the tags off the clothes. I invented games and counted flecks on the carpet. It was torturous and I once got lost in a store on purpose to spice up our trip. It…
